


Legacy

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Disabled Character, Enemies to Friends, Father Figures, Father's Day, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Future Fic, Idols, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Physical Disability, Reconciliation, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 13:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14045190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: Ed journeys to the prestigious outlying Gotham neighbourhood of Burnside to track down Oswald's mysterious new contact and ends up finding much more than he bargained for.Fourth Prompt for Nygmobblepot Week: 'Martin'





	Legacy

Ed gave a wordless shout of exasperation and slammed his palm against the bars of the cage.  
How could he have been so stupid as to fall for a simple tripwire?! One small stumble and a cage had fallen from above, trapping him instantly.  
Ed knew something had been odd about the lack of guards for a technology company’s gala but he had been too eager to get a look around backstage to continue his investigations to worry too much about it. He had also been a bit too eager to pat himself on the back for successfully gaining entry by simply mentioning the nightclub owner’s codename.  
Now he was caught like a rat and to make matters worse, the cage he was currently standing in was very familiar.There had to be a clue in the letter he had intercepted. Something he could use against his captor when they inevitably found him here.  
Ed pressed his forehead hard against the bars and ran through the letter text frantically in his head.

_Dear Oswald,_  
_Project Starling is finally ready._  
_I hope you will be able to join me for the grand unveiling at my nightclub downtown this Saturday night at 8pm. Thank you again for helping me choose a tuxedo! If I look half as good as you do, I will be in good company. Looking forward to thanking you in person. I’ve missed you terribly._  
_Love always,_  
_Blacksun_

‘Do you believe in fate?’ came a question.

Ed opened his aching eyes and saw a young man on the other side of the bars.

‘Then again you are two minutes behind schedule’, the man continued, consulting an expensive looking watch on his wrist.

He was tall and slim with dark eyes and the kind of expensive hairstyle that was designed to look like the owner had just tumbled out of bed. The young man actually reminded Ed of a younger version of himself except, instead of spectacles, he wore a strange looking monocle over his left eye. There was also a metal band around his neck peeking slightly over the collar of his crisp white shirt. Ed had seen far too many seemingly innocuous yet actually lethal objects in his time to write these off as fashion statements even though the man obviously put great stock in appearances.

‘’Blacksun’ I presume?’ Ed asked, his lip curling distastefully at the grandiose codename.

‘Please call me Martin’, Martin replied pleasantly, ‘CEO of Vicform Inc. It’s a privilege to meet you Mr Nygma. Or would you prefer ‘Riddler’? Or perhaps ‘Ed’?’

Ed eyed Martin’s offered hand sourly. He was not about to shake anyone’s hand through the bars of a birdcage. Martin retracted his hand after a few seconds but gave no sign that Ed’s refusal of the gesture bothered him.

‘You’re younger than I expected you to be’, Ed commented, irritated and confused by Martin’s friendly demeanour.  
He obviously knew who Ed was so where was the fear? The respect?! Instead, Martin was looking at Ed with an amused expression, as if he were some kind of fascinating zoo animal. 

‘Young but not inexperienced in this kind of thing’, Martin said, then added fondly, ‘I had a very good teacher’.

‘And what is ‘this kind of thing’?’

‘Obviously not what you were expecting it to be’, Martin replied, a trace of smugness sneaking into his tone.  
Martin’s raised eyebrow clearly telegraphed he knew exactly the kind of ‘rendezvous’ Ed had been expecting Oswald to be having with him.

‘Not unless Oswald has very specific tastes in erotica’, Ed deadpanned, gesturing to the bars, ‘The Court of Owls having a yard sale?’

‘I enjoy collecting curiosities’, Martin said, patting the cage, ‘Speaking of which and, since you’re not going anywhere right now, do you want to explain how you knew this was my nightclub?’

‘What for?’ Ed asked, noticing an odd humming noise to Martin’ voice, ‘So you can gloat about luring me in here?’

‘You weren’t lured’, Martin said, eyes wide in seemingly genuine surprise at Ed’s interpretation, ‘Just invited in an unorthodox way. I’m asking for the same reason you’re here. To indulge my curiosity. That is the only reason you’re here, right?’

Ed feigned interest in the bars of the cage. He was not about to admit he had been primarily motivated by jealousy even though it seemed Martin had already made that leap. It stung that the simple use of the word ‘love’ had been enough for Ed to drive to Burnside to get a look at the new object of Oswald’s affections. Martin had probably planned it like that deliberately. Ed knew he and Oswald were not to be. There was too much hurt there. Too much pride for either of them to ever concede they had both been to blame for past transgressions. But that didn’t stop Ed irrationally wishing, hoping that-

‘Club Eclipse: the only club in Gotham with that name’, Ed recited, vocalising the train of thought that had led him to the location, ‘Eclipse as in ‘black sun’. A Danish term for a vast group of starlings, so called because when flying in a large group, they block out the sun’.

Ed completed his explanation and was surprised to notice the cage was being raised.  
Seeing Martin run a finger along his monocle, Ed realised the cage control mechanism must be built into it. 

‘Correct’, Martin smiled, tracking the cage’s progress back up into the heavens, ‘Though it is rather obvious when you put it like that’.

There was a ‘clunk’ as the cage finished rising. Martin lowered his hand from his monocle and returned his attention to Ed.

‘By the way I would also have accepted ‘because starlings and penguins are both birds’’, he said, holding up a finger as a means of counting, ‘Or any perceived connection between the ‘sun’ and ‘stars’. Then again, riddles are your thing, not puns’.

He turned and began to walk away. Ed stood where he was, unsure how to respond. What kind of game was Martin playing? Was he trying to lull him into a false sense of security before unveiling his true intentions? 

‘Are you coming?’ Martin asked, glancing over his shoulder, ‘There’s a chocolate fountain’.

Ed followed, his curiosity piqued despite his disquiet at Martin’s nonchalant attitude.

‘I just need to head up to my office to grab something for the presentation’, Martin said as they re-entered the club proper.

The gala was full of well dressed partygoers dancing and enjoying themselves as a live band played on stage. For an invitation only event, the crowd was more diverse than the benefits held in Gotham and seemed skewed towards a much younger audience. The place was vibrant, the image of a solar eclipse painted onto the ceiling and the dancefloor lit up with orange neon lights. At the bar, a bartender was serving drinks with nitroglycerin while another set a round of cocktails on fire to the delight of the patrons.

‘How do you like Burnside?’ Martin asked Ed conversationally as they made their way through the partygoers.

Ed hated Burnside.  
Known colloquially as Gotham’s ‘up and coming’ neighbourhood, everything was unnaturally clean and ordered. The buildings were so well maintained they almost shone and fake trees were placed at exact points along the sidewalks to add some greenery. A haven of overpriced coffee joints, alternative food stores, niche fashion boutiques, gimmicky nightclubs and gyms all of which changed hands like the tides. The same products offered but under different, fresher names until the next round came along and rent increased even more. Burnside was soulless and sterile. A shrine to money and self-indulgence that left everyone behind in the name of progress and new ideas. At least in Gotham, people were honestly robbed. Not tricked into buying into a lifestyle that left them just as empty and unfulfilled until they were inevitably priced out of their apartments they had worked so hard to earn.

‘It’s very different’, Ed said diplomatically, ‘No homeless people. No dubious establishments. No non-conformity’.

Martin raised an eyebrow and Ed was gratified to see his stealthy, backhanded insult had been detected.

‘You ever hear of ‘SafeStreets’?’ Martin asked, obviously ignoring Ed’s comment for the sake of civility.

Ed nodded. He had seen several large billboards advertising the service as he had made his way to the nightclub. It was one of those new ‘applications’ offered by Martin’s company, Vicform. All the user had to do was use their phone to mark the location of a homeless person and they would be ‘relocated’ appropriately. Apparently Vicform had homeless shelters and clean, warm beds waiting for the poor unfortunates.  
Ed doubted that and doubted the altruism of the ‘app’. It wasn’t about helping people: it was about putting homeless people out of sight and consequently out of mind.  
It’s sister app which was offered as part of a higher priced bundle was ‘WalkHome’: a personal escort service designed for use by those walking alone at night. Ed had picked up a brochure about it, wondering what the angle could be. It turned out signing up for the service involved handing over a great deal of personal information: from the user’s address to which nightclubs the user frequented and at what times.  
Ed knew both apps weren’t about helping people get off the streets or get home safely. It was about control: maintaining Burnside’s image and collecting data on the people who lived there.

‘Gentrification at a price?’ Ed asked as they began to ascend a staircase illuminated with orange neon lights.

‘It’s very popular. People are willing to pay a lot to avoid ugliness and stay safe. Especially under my-‘

Martin gave a small chuckle before continuing.

‘-Umbrella’.

‘How did you know I’d get Penguin’s letter?’ Ed asked, eyes narrowing at Martin’s meaningful use of the word ‘umbrella’.  
It seemed his wholesome image had a few cracks in it after all.

‘Because I’ve done my research’, Martin said, ‘In fact I feel like we’re very well acquainted already’.

‘Speak for yourself’, Ed grumbled.

Martin chuckled again, as if enjoying a private joke, but did not respond.

They approached a large set of glass double doors. Martin leant down slightly to a panel in the wall and a laser scanned the eye not covered by his monocle. The doors slid open with a musical chime and they entered Martin’s office.

‘If you know me so well then why the charade?’ Ed asked.

‘I knew The Riddler wouldn’t come if I just asked’, Martin shrugged, ‘Too easy. Glad I made the effort though. You did not disappoint’.

Ed suddenly realised what had been nagging him about Martin’s voice. He had noticed the barely audible humming earlier but assumed it had perhaps been due to the nightclub’s audio system. But now they were high up enough that the drumbeat was a distant rhythm and the humming had not dissipated.  
Martin wasn’t actually speaking to Ed. Simply mouthing the words with his lips.  
And in a voice that was not his own.

‘Stop talking to me in my voice’, Ed exacted, vexed at the pathetic attempt at a scare tactic.

Martin blinked and his eyes darted down self consciously for the briefest of seconds before that winning smile reappeared on his face.

‘I fear the conversation may become somewhat one sided in that case’, Martin said evenly, undoing his top button.

Ed’s eyes narrowed as the collar was fully revealed. A speaker was built into a box that rested beneath Martin’s Adam’s apple. Ed was startled to see that the collar actually had injectors penetrating Martin’s skin.

‘Since I have no voice of my own’, Martin said, not bothering to mouth the words this time, a bare bones robotic intonation coming from the literal ‘voice box’.

Ed realised the collar must be an assisted speech device. He wondered if perhaps Martin had procured some ‘curiosities’ from Indian Hill as well as from the Court. Had that been where all this new technology had come from? Ed knew Oswald had purchased Indian Hill’s resources for his own use. Had he perhaps gifted it to Martin who had simply improved or altered some of their designs to build his own fortune? Ed admired the innovation and also found he couldn’t begrudge Martin this particular adaptation.

‘I see’, Ed said, feeling abashed at Martin’s discomfort, ‘Is there maybe another voice you can use?’

Martin obligingly tapped the collar with a fingertip and cleared his throat with an audible undercurrent of static as the voice modulator reconfigured. 

‘Much appreciated’, Martin said, mouthing the words again as he rebuttoned his collar, ‘Thank you. I daresay you’re not adverse to a little reading but this method of communication is much faster’.

‘That’s Oswald’s voice’, Ed said in wonder at the uncanny sight of hearing his former friend’s voice emanating from Martin’s mouth.

‘He was my first volunteer’, Martin said, pointing to a photograph on his desk, ‘First investor too’.

Ed looked at the picture and saw a younger Oswald smiling back at him. The picture appeared to have been taken at a benefit of some kind because Oswald was dressed to impress. Beside him was a young boy, dressed similarly to Oswald. A notepad hung around his neck and his hair was styled into a distinctive birdlike crest in obvious homage to Oswald, who was resting a hand paternally on the boy’s shoulder. Both were smiling for the camera.

‘What’s your surname?’ Ed asked, the pieces of the puzzle of Martin’s identity falling fully into place.

‘You already know the answer to that question’, Martin smiled knowingly, ‘The answer to the next question is ‘adoption’, the answer after that is ‘ten years ago’ and the final one is ’he sent me away from Gotham to keep me safe’.

Ed sat down on a nearby leather couch, mind whirling at the revelation. How could he have known nothing about this side of Oswald’s life? He thought he had a working knowledge of everything Oswald was involved in and yet this boy had completely escaped his notice. It seemed Oswald could still surprise him. This realization made an unexpected fondness for Oswald well up inside him. As well as similarly unexpected relief that Oswald truly had not come to Burnside for romantic reasons after all.

‘Why a ‘starling’?’ Ed asked in an attempt to distract himself from analysing his feelings further, ‘Was ‘Penguin’ trademarked?’

‘Oswald actually suggested ‘Emperor Penguin’ but I found it a trifle pompous’, Martin replied, ‘Besides, the starling conceit is a rather delicious irony don’t you think? Such noisy birds and here I am unable to naturally speak’.

‘A group of starlings is called a ‘Murmuration’. That word would suit someone who can’t speak rather well’.

Ed looked at Martin and saw he was looking at him with a strange expression of awe. Like someone meeting a celebrity and finding them to be everything they had ever hoped. Ed was oddly flattered as well as discomfited by the wonder in Martin’s eyes.

‘You truly are exceptional’, Martin said, eyes shining, ‘Just like he said you’d be’.

‘Is Oswald here?’ Ed asked, looking around as if expecting Oswald to materialise out of thin air.  
At this stage he wouldn’t have been surprised if Martin had somehow cracked the secret of teleportation.

‘Would you like a drink while we’re here?’ Martin asked, reaching beneath his desk and showing Ed a fine bottle of port.

Ed accepted, fairly certain that the drinks below in the bar would be watered down as much as the Iceberg Lounge’s if Oswald truly was Martin’s patron.  
Martin poured two glasses and Ed waited for him to take a sip before raising his own glass.

‘Oswald never mentioned you’, Ed commented, giving his drink an experimental sniff just in case, ‘He doesn’t seem the fatherly type’.

‘Yes. That’s the idea’, Martin said, swirling his port as he reached into a drawer, ‘He taught me the value of appearances. Speaking of which: this is the two of you isn’t it?’

Ed looked down at the photograph Martin was sliding across the table. It was old and cracked from folding. It showed he and Oswald standing side by side in the Van Dahl mansion. Ed identified it immediately. It had been taken the night Oswald had been announced as mayor.  
Ed was taken aback at seeing it again. It wasn’t a press photograph like the numerous others that had followed. Oswald had requested this one himself from a supporter at the manor. Ed remembered why: so Oswald would never again doubt Ed’s loyalty. So he would always remember what true friendship looked like.  
Even after everything that had happened, Oswald had kept it?  
Ed noted Martin was watching him, obviously scanning for a reaction, and realised to his embarrassment, that he had been smiling.

‘Not a particularly flattering one’, Ed deflected, plastering an indifferent look back onto his face. 

‘When I was younger, I asked about the man in the picture but he wouldn’t tell me’, Martin said, taking the picture back, ‘So, I decided to find out for myself once I had the right resources at my disposal’.

‘Why?’

‘I knew it had to be someone important to my father’.

‘How did you know that?’ Ed asked, watching as Martin pressed a button on a remote and a television screen mounted on the wall flickered into life.

‘Excuse the quality’, Martin said, pressing the play button while tapping his monocle, ‘It was recorded on the first prototype’.

Despite the grainy black and white of the recording, Ed easily identified Oswald, sitting staring into the fire at the Van Dahl mansion, drink in hand. Judging from the height of the recording, Martin was younger. The sound was non-existent but Ed watched Oswald turned at the sound of Martin’s footsteps, his face lighting up once he saw who was approaching. He asked an unknown question and Ed saw a small hand hold the photograph out to Oswald in reply.  
Ed watched as Oswald’s face shifted through what seemed like a hundred emotions before settling on a tight lipped grimace disguised as a flippant smile. Oswald folded the photo with deliberate slowness and as Oswald handed the unseen Martin the photo back in the recording, Ed replayed the emotions in his head.  
Happiness. Realization. Guilt. Regret. Anger. Sorrow. Resignation.

Oswald sat patiently and Ed realised Martin must be writing something on his communication pad. Oswald’s eyes lowered and went from right to left as he read whatever Martin had written. He did not reply but rose from his chair and ruffled Martin’s hair fondly. Martin watched as Oswald walked to the drinks cabinet and poured himself another glass of wine before leaving the room without a word. The recording cut to black but all Ed could think about was Oswald’s initial smile upon seeing the picture. Oswald hadn’t smiled like that in years.

‘I wondered what kind of person could make him look like that’, Martin said quietly, ‘Once I started reading about you, I was hooked’.

He went to a wall panel and pressed a button. The panel slid back, revealing a massive board covered with newspaper clippings, photographs and other miscellaneous information.

‘I think I may have been slightly over enthusiastic tracking you down’, Martin said, rubbing the back of his neck, ‘It’s a habit I picked up from Oswald’.

Ed felt disquieting memories of his time as Myrtle’s patient rise to the surface as he marvelled at the research Martin had accumulated about him. Reports from mainstream media about his most audacious crimes, psych evaluations, opinion pieces, maps of previously used hideouts and even some purloined police reports. All collated to build a concise picture of Edward Nygma, The Riddler.  
Ed was also surprised to hear Martin describe the mind mapping as one of Oswald’s habits. He hadn’t realised they had shared the habit.

‘Actually, I do the same thing’, Ed said, too impressed by the sheer range and depth of research on display to be affronted.

‘Really?’ Martin asked, smiling, ‘Well, you could say in a way you’ve been like a second father to me. Inspired me to enter the field of information technology. Particularly data mining. Information and, more importantly, collecting and controlling access to it, is power. What good is a riddle if everyone knows the answer?’

Ed gave a compulsive twitch at the word 'father'. It was strange to have a word he had long associated with dread used to describe him. He wasn't even sure what emotions he was feeling right now: a potent mix of bemusement, regret, longing, shock and pride was coursing through his system. was this how fathers felt when their sons surpassed them?

‘How does Oswald feel about me being your source of ‘inspiration’?’ Ed asked as the wall panel slid back into place.

‘He’s done nothing but encourage me every step of the way’, Martin said, twiddling a white device between his fingers, ‘Given me anything I ever needed and I didn’t even have to explain why. You know how he is with people he cares for’.

‘I know exactly how he is’, Ed tried to say in a dark, knowing, tone but to his dismay it came out more sad or regretful. 

‘He did say I could worse for a role model’.

‘Very big of him’, Ed deadpanned, trying very hard to muster up some of the anger he had brought with him to Burnside, ‘I hope you didn’t just bring me here for reminiscing about long dead friendships?’

‘Of course not. I wanted to show you something. Both of you’.

The office doors opened and Oswald came in. 

‘Oswald’, Ed said politely.

‘Ed’, Oswald returned, equally politely.

‘Shall we then?’ Martin asked brightly.

**

‘Did you know about this?’ Ed asked.

He and Oswald were standing at the foot of the stage on the main floor of the nightclub. The music had been turned off while the stage crew made final checks before Martin’s speech unveiling Vicform’s latest application. 

‘Of course I did. I was invited’, Oswald said, taking a sip of champagne, ‘Did I know you frequently intercept my mail? Did I know you’d follow the trail?’

He raised an eyebrow as they reached the last step.

‘Come on Ed. give me some credit’.

‘Why do you want me here?’

‘Martin wanted to show you something and I’ve never been able to say ‘no’ to the boy. It’s why he’s wearing an orange tie instead of the purple I suggested’.

‘Is that the only reason you wanted me here? To watch a slideshow?’

‘What other reason could there be?’

‘You know damn well what-‘

‘Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you for coming. I’ll keep is short and sweet because the product will be doing most of the talking’.

The audience laughed politely as Martin winked and clicked the button on the white device he had brought down from his office, The audience quieted as the lights died out and the large projection screen behind Martin showed a black outline of a starling on an orange background.

‘As many of you know, the logo for Vicform is a starling’, Martin said, walking across the stage, ‘And people often ask me: why? Starlings aren’t impressive or majestic. They’re just little birds’.

Martin paused and locked eyes with Oswald.

‘I bet people used to say the same thing about penguins in this town’.

He paused as if awaiting a laugh but seemed satisfied that there was no reaction. Ed glanced around, taken aback at the lack of a reaction. The audience wasn’t moving, their eyes locked on the screen as the starling took wing, flittering around the screen.

‘And much like penguins’, Martin continued, ‘People underestimate a starling. And yes, one starling is not very intimidating. But a starling who has friends?’

He waved a hand and the screen suddenly began to fill with starlings, whirling and darting in a frenzied display of perfectly synchronised motion. 

‘They can be a force of nature’, Martin said coolly, ‘They can even block out the sun’.

The screen abruptly became pitch black only to disperse once again into the cloud of starlings.

‘Another fun fact about starlings’, Martin said, holding up an instructive finger, ‘They are excellent mimics. They collect sounds and information. Just like my newest device’.

Martin threw his arms out and his tuxedo erupted into flames. Oswald gave a panicked gasp but Martin winked at him. Ed was too busy wondering why the audience was showing no reaction to the unexpected pyrotechnics. Martin spun in place dramatically as the last, ashen pieces of his tuxedo fell to the floor like black feathers.  
Martin was wearing a black, form fitting rubber outfit outlined with neon orange lights akin to a form fitting combat suit Ed often saw in science fiction features. A cape attached to the bottom of Martin’s arms was reminiscent of wings as he lowered his arms, rotating his neck as if luxuriating in being freed from the confines of his tuxedo. His boots clicked on the stage as he resumed pacing as if nothing had happened and his palms lit up with orange lights creating the image of hand prints on the black material.

‘Names, places, numbers, fingerprints, voices: all collected and fed into my algorithm’, Martin grinned, eyes glinting dangerously, ‘Even peoples’ minds are mine. Just look around. All of Burnside is now my murmuration united under one voice’.

The lights brightened slightly and Ed and Oswald saw every member of the audience had pivoted to look at them. Ed clicked his fingers in front of the nearest woman to him and there was no reaction in her dead eyes.

Now it all made sense to Ed: the easy infiltration, the lack of guards, why Martin had said Ed had been late. The audience were the eyes and ears and Martin was the voice controlling them!

‘Now that my vector suit is complete I can connect the points of the data I’ve mined and make anyone who uses my tech do anything I desire’, Martin said with relish, ‘And the best part is, I didn’t need to steal any of it. They gave it to me freely and in return, I give them the peace they crave so badly’.

He descended the stairs towards Ed and Oswald, unseen hydraulic built into his suit hissing.

‘This is the future’, he said, eyes glistening with emotion, ‘My gift to you both’.

Martin clapped his hands and every audience member clapped their hands simultaneously. The sound made the hairs on the back of Ed’s neck rise. It was akin to soldiers standing to attention.

‘Fascinating’, Ed breathed and heard Oswald whisper the word ‘Beautiful’ at the same time.

‘Happy Father’s Day’, Martin said in chorus with hundreds of voices from the audience, visibly swelling with pride from his fathers' reactions.

The tantalising possibilities that lay ahead revealed themselves to Ed and Oswald like startled starlings taking wing. Martin spread his arms wide in triumph and the crowd erupted in obedient, rapturous applause.

**

‘Those things will kill you’.

‘Yes, yes, Martin tells me the same thing’, Oswald said, lighting his cigarette regardless. Ed watched the smoke rise into the shape of a question mark before dissipating into the night.

‘You should be proud of him Oswald’, Ed said, ‘He’s exceptional’.

‘I am’.

From below, they could hear awed gasps and applause as Martin unveiled his new product now the audience had been released from his spell.  
Ed and Oswald, their demonstration concluded had adjourned to the balcony outside Martin’s office. It was a warm night and from the office, they could see the lights of Gotham across the bay. It seemed darker than Burnside.

‘You should be proud as well’, Oswald added after taking a long drag on his cigarette, ‘You’re his idol after all. He certainly seems to have taken your penchant for dramatics to heart’.

‘Is that a hint of jealousy I hear?’

Oswald shook his head and tapped the cigarette to discard the ash.

‘Regret that I didn’t introduce you two sooner’, Oswald said, ‘When Martin starts talking about his projects and technology, I often have no idea what he’s talking about. If anyone knows what that’s like it’s you’.

‘We both know what that’s like. Somehow, he’s the best of both of us’.

‘Your brain. My ruthlessness’.

‘That’s not the best of you’.

Oswald gave a harsh sigh and his hands tightened on the balcony rail, cigarette still clenched between his fingers.

‘I am trying to extend an olive branch here Ed’, Oswald said in a tight voice, ‘I knew this was going to be awkward but for the boy’s sake I thought we could-’.

Oswald stopped talking as Ed placed a companionable hand on his shoulder. Oswald took another drag of his cigarette. The better to fight the urge to place his hand over Ed’s.

‘You misunderstand me’, Ed said gently, ‘Ruthlessness was never your best quality. It was how much you care. He’s very like you’.

‘But he’s his own man. He won’t make the same mistakes we-I did’.

‘You were right the first time. Mistakes we made. What did you tell him about us?’

‘Nothing. I let him find out for himself’.

‘Neutrality isn’t your usual stance’. 

‘I couldn’t do you justice’.

‘Why haven’t you brought him back to Gotham before now?’ Ed asked, doubting he would have been so considerate of Martin’ perceptions of Oswald had their roles been reversed, ‘Surely he’s in no danger now that he’s an adult with all that tech?’

‘He’s made his own nest here’, Oswald said, gesturing below, ‘Besides, every time I looked at him…’

‘What?’

Oswald sighed heavily and gave a familiar chuckle. Ed knew now where Martin had picked it up from. 

‘Every time he looked at me, all I saw was you’, Oswald said sadly, ‘Looking at me like you used to. What’s so funny?! You bastard! Are you laughing at me?!’

Ed held a hand over his mouth to stifle his compulsive laughter, using the other as a silent means of placating the now bristling Oswald. He hadn’t meant to laugh but the irony of Oswald’s confession had pierced him to the core. Elation and sadness warred within Ed, both threatening to force their way out as undignified tears. With effort, Ed composed himself and asked:-

‘Do you know how I knew Martin was yours?’ 

‘A penchant for bird imagery?’ Oswald countered snidely, obviously still convinced Ed was mocking him.

‘There’s that but no’, Ed conceded then added, ‘He looked at me the same way _you_ used to’.

Oswald’s cheeks coloured and his cigarette dropped from his shaking fingers. Oswald rubbed his hands together but Ed took hold of them and squeezed gently. Ed watched fondly as the years of bitterness and suspicion seemed to melt away from Oswald’s face. As he looked up at Ed, Ed could almost imagine they were in the mansion all those years ago, celebrating Oswald’s mayoral victory.

‘Like you were the future’, Oswald elaborated. 

‘And the future is ours’, Ed agreed, his heart skipping a beat as Oswald squeezed his hand in return.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration taken from the Batgirl 'Son of Penguin' arc


End file.
